


Time Dilation

by radstickers



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, exploration of ptsd in OverWatch tbqh, fun with time travel tbh, the romance stuff is soff tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-01-29 00:57:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21401518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radstickers/pseuds/radstickers
Summary: When her body was torn from its timeline after the Slipstream accident, Lena Oxton had to be goingsomewhere.
Relationships: Emily & Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Emily/Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Emily/Lena "Tracer" Oxton/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Lena "Tracer" Oxton/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Comments: 17
Kudos: 136





	1. POSTULATE 1: Part 1 - Emily

**Author's Note:**

> It's been so long hi!! This fic has been a wip in my wip drawer for a long time because of the scope. I haven't been super public about liking widowtracerly before but I do really like it.

It was a Friday like any other--a double shift at the local clinic, back home to her tiny apartment. She had finished making supper for herself, didn’t have the energy to do the dishes after putting her feet up on the couch and catching a few minutes of tele before bedtime. 

It was easy to feel overwhelmed--cost of living was expensive and she was still so new to her job. It would be a wonder if they didn’t just fire her--she’d already made so many mistakes already.

Still, they hadn’t felt the need just yet, and when her eyes grow heavy enough she no longer tries to pay attention to whatever is happening on the screen, shuts it off, and heads into her bedroom. 

She hears something, after pulling on her pajamas, after sinking beneath her sheets and turning off her lights. She hears something even though she tries _ not _ to hear anything at all.

Her little flat isn’t in the best part of town, and even though her locks were good, sometimes at night she’d hear people in the halls, checking the doors. Checking to see if they could get in. 

And Emily, only 19 years old without many renting references, can only find so good of a place to live. Not until she’s been at the clinic long enough for a pay raise. 

Still, the doesn’t sound like the normal door yank--but something different. Shuffling?

She feels her fingers go numb, her chest seizing at the thought. 

_ Is someone in here...with me? _

A thousand and one terrors spill over her at once, the thought of being accosted in her own apartment. They treat enough of those in the clinic, enough for a _ lifetime. _And they’re always asked why they didn’t lock their doors…

Emily gets up slowly, reaching for her keys, shifting them between her knuckles. She has to be ready for a fight.

The light beneath the microwave casts the small apartment in an eerie light. She doesn’t see anything right away--not until a flash of blue catches her eye.

It’s downright _ terrifying, _ to see it light behind her couch, her fears shifting from someone robbing her to the _ paranormal. _ She had never really believed in such things, but when she’s dead tired, and strange noises are happening in her apartment…?

“...H-Hello?” she tries, desperately fighting back the tremble in her tone and finding herself rather unsuccessful. 

She sees another flash and peers over the couch.

Her keys crash to the ground, Emily letting go of them in fright and skittering back. She hears a cry from the other side of the couch and feels her entire body _ freeze. _

A hand grasps the back of her couch, and a girl peeks over at her. 

A shock of brown hair spikes up over a face rounded and gentle. She looks tired and just as scared, and Emily finds herself on her feet, walking over quickly.

“How did you get in?”

“How did I get in...where?” comes the answer--or rather the _ question, _ amber eyes darting about Emily’s small apartment. “I...the last thing I remember was engaging the Slipstream...and…”

The girl trails off, lifting a hand to her head with a weak groan. 

“I-I don’t know where I am at all,” she admits softly, glancing back at Emily with watery eyes. “Something went wrong. I tried to signal but I don’t think they’re picking up…”

It sounds _ insane. _ Then again, with the door still locked from the inside, Emily isn’t sure she’s being deceived. She wants to ask more questions, but when the girl lifts her head a bit--when those fingers push back a lock of spiky brown hair, Emily sees a cut across that temple and a deep bruise. 

_ That _ at least she can handle, stepping over to the kitchen to pull out her first aid kit.

She slowly sinks down on the couch next to the girl, soaking some gauze in antiseptic gently lifting the girl’s hair out of the way.

“Well...I don’t know where you came from but at least I can get you a bit cleaned up.”

The girl visibly calms, exhaling and resting her shoulder against the back of the couch. 

“Thanks...I know I hit my head but...it’s all a blur...I don’t remember much…”

It feels like a dream, and maybe it is one, she thinks, as she bandages up the side of the girl’s head. That hair is soft as silk and the girl’s voice is bright and gentle. 

She’s partway through tying off the bandaging when the girl goes stiff--and she starts to _ vanish. _

“O-oh no--” the girl says, her eyes going wide as she grips onto the back of the couch with one hand. “Oh god, please no--”

Those eyes catch Emily’s before she vanishes entirely. 

* * *

Nearly a month passes since her silly dream about that girl. She chalked it all up to stress, the way the bandages were spread out on the couch, a makeshift headwrap fallen on the couch with no head inside it. It’s a little unnerving to think she’s reached that level of stress, enough to hallucinate something like that. 

She doesn’t mention it to anyone, not while she’s so new at the clinic. She doesn’t want to be the freak here. 

Besides, it was just a dream anyways. Nothing else even remotely close had happened like it.

Life had almost returned back to normal.

_ Almost. _

She hears a cry, this time in the dead of night. She almost doesn’t get up at all. 

“Please--help me…”

That one she _ does _ hear--slowly sitting up and pushing long red hair from her eyes. 

She’s hesitant to get up, as though this proves she’s _ insane. _ Chewing on her lip, Emily lingers by the door. 

The sniffling continues. Emily’s heart can’t stay still, not with someone so clearly distraught.

Sure enough, it’s the girl--though she’s laying quite a bit more _ still _ on her couch. The uniform from before is replaced now with something else...hospital clothes? And she looks...thinner…

Those amber eyes widen when they meet Emily’s, and Emily feels her heart run straight through.

“O-oh--! It’s you...it’s you, I never got a chance to ask your name…”

She seems frantic--and Emily guesses in no position to be able to ask questions like _ where did you come from _ and _ how do I send you home? _

Not to mention _ how did you disappear and reappear in my locked apartment? _

She sinks down onto the couch, watching the girl fold her legs up and curl against the back of the couch.

She doesn’t look injured this time, just...lost. A girl her age with the expression of a child lost in the market, darting between the calves of adults trying to find an absent mother…

“I’m Emily,” she supplies, reaching out to take the girl’s hand and squeeze it. “It’s alright, just calm down…”

“‘M Lena,” comes the reply, those eyes looking around her apartment as though trying to find something. They settle on a clock on the wall…

“What….what day is it?”

“Well, Tuesday...very _ very _ early Tuesday…”

Lena’s quiet--the answer didn’t _ really _ satisfy her, Emily can tell. But maybe she’s too shy to ask more.

Still, Emily’s background in nursing kicks in. Full dates and times. 

“Tuesday...April 26. 2067,” she adds for clarity.

Those amber eyes fall. A hand lifts to her head, burying into her hair.

“O-oh….oh my god…”

Emily feels her heart twist, watching those eyes flit frantically about. She worries Lena is about to start crying, or try to run, or _ something. _ And with hollow cheeks and hospital clothes hanging off of her…

She reaches for that hand, to hold it in her own, fingers stroking over those knuckles. 

“Hey,” she says softly, reaching for the other hand as well. “...It’s alright. It’s alright, Lena. Whatever happened it’s ok…”

Big brown eyes gaze up at hers, tears pooling in them. There’s a glance down, a hesitance...a bitten lip and then a hand lifted to mop away now falling tears…

Emily reaches forward, wrapping her arms around the smaller. And it only takes Lena half a beat to return the hug.

Her body is warm and soft and Emily feels a jolt of warmth as those arms wrap around her like she’s about to be dragged away. Though considering their first meeting a month ago, the way she vanished into the air…

Suddenly Emily’s arms tighten about that frame, a sense of protectiveness sweeping over her. She can feel her spine rising sharply and every last one of her ribs, the way that frame shivers slightly beneath her own, the desperation for warmth…

That head buries into her shoulder and Emily rests her hand on the back of her neck, scraping her nails along the short crop of hair. 

“I’ve got you,” she shushes softly against that ear. “You’ll be alright…”

“...thank you,” comes that small voice, those arms looped over her shoulders and losing strength. She must be tired...Emily can feel that strength waning. The desire to _ sleep. _

And it isn’t as though Emily is _ opposed _ to entertaining the same sex as her own. Far from opposed. Especially not one her own age, one with soft brown hair and warm amber eyes. 

“...when was the last time you slept…?” Emily asks. “...Or ate? Or had something to drink?”

It seems almost too much to ask how she got in, and rather, at this point, irrelevant. If her eyes and ears were to be believed, it would be something out of anyone’s control. Whether a ghost or a science experiment gone wrong...it seems prudent just to ask what she _ needs _ rather than to try and fix it. 

There’s a small noise, half of nerves and half of distress, from Lena at the question.

“I...I really don’t know. I...I don’t know how much I...I should say about what’s happened, and I don’t know if you’d believe me anyways. Just...know time is not on my side right now. I...I feel exhausted though...and I...I am terribly hungry…”

_ Those _ things she can fix. Emily gives her a gentle squeeze, moving gently to pull back. She’s got some boxed pasta dinner in the pantry, a can of beans she can open. Baby greens for something healthy and--

Instead of letting go, however, Lena stays attached, sniffling softly.

“P-please,” she whispers, “...don’t let go yet. I-I’m sorry, I just...when I...when I phase out, I’m trapped in a room and I can’t touch anything, everything’s so swimmy and I can barely hear voices, please--_ please, _ just hold me for a little while longer…”

As if Emily could let go _ now. _

Tears pool in her own eyes as she sinks down, her arms wrapping around that slender form, thumb massaging the base of her neck.

“...alright...but you have to promise me to eat when I tell you to.”

There’s a muffled noise--an affirmation--as well as a nod against Emily’s shoulder. 

They stay that way for several minutes, Emily laying back so Lena can lay on top. It’s comfortable, intimate in a way that Emily didn’t know she had been _ hungering _ for. Those small fingers play gently with her pajamas, tracing the small fox print on the cloth…

A long moment passes. Emily’s fingers again move over Lena’s back, feeling her sharp spine. She can’t hold it off any longer.

“...Alright, Lena,” she says gently, moving to stand without disentangling herself from her guest. “I’m gonna make you a good meal.”

There’s a soft sad noise of denial, one that would have stopped Emily in her tracks were it not for memory of how sharp and _ thin _ that body was. She has to think about the girl’s health. They can cuddle after the meal, right?

_ Cuddle. _

She catches herself thinking it and quietly chastises herself for it. It’s not exactly about her. In fact it isn’t about her at all. 

She starts the water to boil, pours the beans in a pan. She gestures to the table, and Lena slowly stands.

It’s clear she’s worse for wear. Along that face she’s still bruised, though the gash Emily remembers from a month ago is faded to barely a scar, small marks indicating it was swiftly and efficiently stitched closed. There’s an arm band around her wrist, and she’s shuffling about in small slippers, hospital issue. 

Yet even despite what looks like medical care, the girl looks like hell, limping slightly towards the chair, a hand lifting to her head as if to assuage an angry headache.

Emily reaches for the wristband while the water boils, her thumb passing over such a thin arm to read the writing. 

_ LENA OXTON _   
_ OW#002721 _ _   
_27/05/2050

The girl looks down at the band too, fingers pressing into her own temple.

“Oxton’s a nice name,” Emily says lightly, an attempt to calm her. Those eyes lift to hers, small fingers curving around Emily’s fingers. 

“Thank you,” comes a delicate response, so much softer than what she remembered…

Emily sinks down into the chair in front of her, her hand reaching to gently push the hair from those eyes. She looks tired, as though she never really gets to sleep. Unfocused and frightened. 

Unable to help herself, Emily asks.

“So what...happened?”

_ How is it that you keep ending up in my apartment? _

Soft brown eyes, ringed with exhaustion and far away lift back to her face.

“...I don’t know. I don’t know what the doctors are saying most times. Sometimes I just can’t hear it, and other times…”

She trails off, biting into her lip as though holding back tears.

“...they have me in some room, but it doesn’t stop the phasing. It’s...not good. I think eventually they’re just...gonna give up...and I’ll be lost…”

The thought makes Emily sick to her stomach, and she stands - moving around the chair to wrap her arms around the girl.

“Well…” she starts, her voice soft. “You’ve come back here twice...maybe I can help you.”

That head rests against her chest and Emily feels something warm drop low in her stomach as her fingers carefully move through short brown locks.

“I-I know they’re working hard,” comes that soft voice, “...but they...I mean, I...I can’t imagine they’ll keep trying forever…”

A hand grips into Emily’s shirt. 

“It’s important not to lose hope,” she says softly, putting on her best nurse voice. “I don’t know what’s going on but I do know you have to believe.”

Soft brown eyes look up, and the girl takes a shuddery breath. Emily wipes away a stray tear that escapes her best, brave efforts.

She doesn’t want to pull away, when she hears the water come to a boil. But the girl needs to eat.

Emily squeezes her tightly for a moment, then pulls back.

“I hope you don’t mind box pasta,” Emily says over her shoulder. She only hears a soft chuckle behind her, one of the first brighter noises from Lena.

“Not at all. I miss it.”

There’s a bit of silence, and when Emily glances back, Lena’s head is resting on her arms on the table. Exhausted, but comfortable.

“What do you do, Emily?”

“Nurse...I’m still really new. But it got me away from my mother, which was good. She didn’t….much care for me. Said I always made rash choices and...well, didn’t much care for the fact that I fancy girls. That’s why I’m not in the best flat...I got my first job so I can pay for it but it’s still pretty expensive to live alone.”

Those eyes soften up at her--and Emily sees a compassion run deep and soft through those eyes.

“Well, I can’t help you now….” she trails off, adding almost under her breath-- “...I’m not _ from _ now…” She makes a brief face, but it ends in a smile, “...In a few years though, maybe we can flat share.”

Emily giggles at the straightforwardness of it, turning away to avoid letting the girl see the deep blush as dark as her hair catch over her cheeks. She drains the pasta and silently blames the flush on the steam.

“Not sure I’m up to cooking dinner every night,” she quips, suddenly hopeful that Lena may be _ flirting. _

“That’s what take-away is for!”

Emily’s laugh catches her by surprise. Even in such a hopeless situation, Lena is _ funny. _ And it’s such an endearing feature.

“I mean, I can cook too. When I get back, I can’t wait to make myself some eggs in a basket. I miss breakfast…”

Emily plates up some pasta and beans along with greens and sets it on the table.

“Well I wish I had known that when I started cooking.”

Those freckles turn dark against a flush and Lena adorably stammers. 

“N-no, love--this is fine. But when I get back...well, how about I find you and make you some breakfast?”

She’s smiling so big, so wide--matching the girl’s own big, offering smile. 

And then Lena is gone.

* * *

Only a week passes this time, but it _ feels _ like forever. She had cried herself to sleep with worry…

She’s on the couch this time, looking at her phone when she sees the bright blue flash.

This time the girl is asleep, phasing perfectly in as a small ball wrapped up in the fetal position. But this time, Emily doesn’t wait around. 

She rushes to the kitchen, grabbing granola bars, trail mix and a glass of water and rushing back out to the livingroom.

“Lena,” she whispers, shaking the girl’s shoulder. 

She whimpers, slowly opening her eyes. 

“O-oh,” comes that soft voice, those brown eyes slowly. “I’m back here again…”

Those eyes fall to Emily’s face, and there’s familiarity but also...confusion. And loss.

“...I know you, I remember you, but I don’t…” she trails off. Emily pauses a moment, reaching to stroke her cheek.

“Emily. Or just Em if it’s easier to remember…”

Those eyes widen and brighten. “Emily! I’m sorry…” 

Not wanting a repeat of last time, Emily shoves several flavors of granola bars into Lena’s hands. “Here. Eat...please.”

She peels one quickly. It’s clear she’s hungry. Emily sighs in relief after one is down, handing Lena the glass of water next. 

“You’re as bad as the doctors as the lab,” Lena says with a soft chuckle, but obediently drinks a few sips before reaching for another bar.

“I’ve….been here before. I don’t remember how many times,” Lena whispers, looking around. “...I remember you...but...my memory has been getting hazy...and...I’ve been having a lot of hallucinations…”

Emily pauses on route to the kitchen, turning and looking back at Lena. Those soft brown eyes hold hers gently.

“So...if you told me anything important, I’m not sure I remember…”

She grins, but there’s a heaviness there. 

Emily rushes to the kitchen, grabbing a couple yogurts, some single serve cheeses...crackers. 

All of which Lena eats. She’s finally slowing down after the third sleeve of crackers, though, finishing off her water and just...laying back on the couch. 

“...thank you. We….almost had a meal before, didn’t we? I haven’t been...stable in a while. Don’t know how long this’ll last either…”

Those eyes look so tired.

“...They have a new problem, I guess. From what I can tell...or maybe more what I can feel, I can’t seem to eat enough. They talk when they think I’m not listening. They say they’re going to lose me.”

Emily sinks onto the couch, tears forming in her eyes.

“So...I’m sorry if this is it. I don’t know how many times I’ve been here…Thank you, Em.”

Emily wraps her arms around Lena, and that’s all either of them really need to start crying. 

Lena drinks some juice. They cuddle. The girl doesn’t seem so scared anymore, just...resigned. And it hurts. 

She disappears from Emily’s arms after about 40 minutes.

* * *

There’s no where to put flowers. It’s been well over a year since Lena Oxton last came, and Emily has had to admit to herself that it’s...it’s over.

It has to be. 

It still feels like a fever dream, and she has no proof otherwise. She’s scoured every last obituary, walked through graveyards…

It doesn’t stop her from buying flowers. And it sure has hell doesn’t stop the tears.


	2. POSTULATE 1: Part 2 - Null Sector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year lovelies!!!!!

She trains with him nearly every day. She can hear the low, wheeze-like breathing, the rage glinting in those eyes. Motion still hurts him, something he fastens like fury inside him. 

Lena Oxton...understands. 

She wasn’t there when he was brought in, carved to pieces and barely alive. She wasn’t there when Dr. Ziegler performed emergency surgery.

From what Lena understands, it’s been...quite a month for Angela. Two emergency surgeries. Two critical, experimental operations. And two ...successes.

She supposes.

Her ICU mate, Genji Shimada, she learns, is anything but talkative. He’s fitful in his sleep, frantic, snaps at the nurses. Movement in his periphery sets him off. 

...in many ways, they’re alike.

Lena hasn’t fully recovered. IVs and chronal stability have brought her body back to something more  _ normal _ , but she knows her PTSD is just as bad. It’s just that...hers doesn’t manifest as rage.

She finds his presence comforting, despite that everyone else on base only talks about him in terms of what he can  _ do. _ His cybernetics allow for much more flexible movement, more powerful fighting styles. 

They talk about her that way too. 

Her hand rests on the outer shell of the Chronal Accelerator. Something her dearest friend made for her, something they worked  _ tirelessly _ on to save her life.

But the accelerator isn’t to offer her a chance at normalcy. No….

All things at a cost.

It doesn’t matter to them that recalling makes her feel like she’s time shifting again. No one behind their one way mirror seemed to give a damn when she fell to the ground after her first recall, dry heaving and having to stop the training session when she couldn’t breathe. 

_ Psychosomatic, _ she heard, when they had to force her airways open.  _ Once she works through the fear, she’ll be an amazing asset to Overwatch. _

Sometimes she wishes she could be more like Genji, watching the rage flow through him as though it had taken the place of the blood he lost. 

Instead...she faces her situation with a masking smile. 

* * *

“Give me some good news, Winston,” she begs, gazing up at the gorilla with pleading eyes. “When will they let me outside for once?”

She takes a deep breath and releases it when Winston scoops her up into his giant palm, bringing her to his chest to hold gently.

“The doctors say you still need 3 to 4 months in a controlled enviro—”

“Please, Winston, you can talk them out of that! I just want to see the beach again. Feel the sand? C’mon Winston, can’t you get them to let me out for just a day?”

Winston gives her a withering look, taking a deep inhale and cradling her as he moves about his lab.

“The doctors were very  _ clear _ about keeping you under quarantine. We’re fortunate they don’t limit  _ these _ meetings too. Here, I’ve been working on something, maybe you could help me.”

There’s little point in arguing. She knows Winston would do nearly anything for her. 

“Whatcha got, big guy?” she asks softly, slowly putting her feet on the ground again.

Those big brown eyes brighten, the way Winston’s expression always does when he’s got a theory he’s chewing on.

“Well...it’s about you. Or rather...where you’ve been. See, there’s...really no way that you could have survived the two months it took to find and stabilize you...not with the failed IVs and such. I kept thinking it was maybe that your time away from us was much shorter, and while that still may be true...we do know you went  _ somewhere. _ Or some _ when. _ ” 

Lena cocks her head. She doesn’t remember too much, the shifting most of all. The psychiatrists say she may have blocked the memories, since the whole thing feels like one giant hazy nightmare…

She does have flashes of memory, something distant. Of lying on a couch. The sound of water. A castle…? A humble living room?

It was hard to know what was hallucination and what wasn’t.

“Y’think someone was feeding me?”

“So...when you were in dissociation...you left some radiation. Nothing dangerous,” he adds, turning to make eye contact with Lena in a way she found comforting. She smiles and nods for him to continue.

“Right. So...I’ve been training our satellites to pick up on that radiation and report it if they find it. It’s got a pretty long half life, so…”

“Did they find anything?” Lena suddenly feels the pull in her gut. A longing. 

_ A hand moving softly through her hair. Granola bars. Bread? Gentle eyes--gold? No, brown… _

“Well, that’s the problem.”

He scratches the back of his neck.

“See...there’s a lot of Talon activity in London...and…”

He pulls down a map. Lena’s hand goes over her mouth, tears springing to her eyes.

Right there. Right in the middle. Lena reaches for the screen, to brush her fingers over the spot marked.

“So….so this is…”

“It’s...complicated. From the rough estimates that I can perform based on the radiation in the labs, that was...two years ago.”

_ Those eyes are kind, but so worried, soft red hair hanging before tired brown eyes… _

“...I remember a girl, Winston...she...well, she was about my age and…”

“Do you remember a name?”

She thinks for a moment, then sadly shakes her head. 

“Maybe….maybe she moved…”

The spot was right in the middle of a string of terrorist attacks, and currently...where the hostages were.

“It’s possible. Though changing homes has been restricted since about six months ago…”

“I thought that Mondatta fellow changed that! He was talking with community leaders and—”

“He could only do so much, I think, for the less poverty stricken side of town. That’s why Null Sector has been so effective taking roots in these areas. No one really cares for the poor.”

“That’s... _ awful. _ And they’re not going to send Overwatch…?”

Winston shakes his head.

“...we just got word in today. They’re forbidding Overwatch involvement.”

Lena stands up, lip curling into a snarl.

“No! I didn’t...I didn’t survive  _ that _ to come home to see my savior and my home torn to shreds!”

She marches towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To speak with the commander!”

* * *

It was  _ burning _ hot. Children were crying. The other hostages were  _ twitchy. _

Emily wrestles a wriggling child in her lap, trying her best to keep both her and her mother calm as she works on suturing up a cut on the child’s head. 

She was taken of course, because her clinic was closest to the power plant. She guessed the only reason why the clinic hadn’t outright been bombed was because they saw both human  _ and _ omnic patients. 

The omnic doctor was dead though, and only a handful of the omnic nurses were alive. Less than one hundred in total corralled into the burning oven that was the power plant. She wondered if there were others. She wondered if they were the only ones alive left in King’s Row.

Still…

“The Iris welcomes all of you,” comes that warm, gentle voice, one Emily had only really  _ heard _ about. Never seen.

_ Mondatta. _

She thought he was more for the  _ omnics _ than humans, but standing there with burn marks and bruises across her face and shoulder, knowing her life could be so  _ easily _ extinguished...she finds herself drawn to the spiritual.

“The cruelest resistance always happens when the biggest change is evident,” he continues, looking not just towards his omnic brethren, but to  _ her, _ to the other humans who are too shell shocked to be prejudiced any longer. 

“Please--” he says, glancing over to a human mother sobbing and holding her infant. “Let me see what I can do about getting some water for the humans.”

She watches him step past them, the eerie smoothness of his joints giving him away as not human, yet his heart…

She’s not sure who he talks to or how he manages it, but he manages to get a couple of cases of water brought down for the humans. And despite everything, when she’s handed a bottle of lukewarm water from an omnic nurse she’s worked side by side with for months...she swears it’s about the kindest gesture she’s ever received.

She had never held the same prejudices for omnics that other humans had--but she realizes that she had always held them as different to herself. Only pretending to be human.

But now...

It’s in that moment that Emily finally understands the truth--

_ We are all one within the Iris. _

No humans, no omnics. Just people. Scared, worried, hungry, hurting. All one within the Iris.

“...Can I do anything for you?” Emily asks Mondatta, when he returns back to the main group. The side of his head is scraped. And for the first time, Emily sees is it not like the scraped paint on a car but if her own temple was scraped raw.

He turns to her, and Emily can sense a calm, warm smile, despite that the metal of his face does not change.

“Nothing more than what you’re doing now. The omnics have a higher tolerance for heat, so keep cycling the humans closer towards the north end of the plant. Mothers and children can stay put--but make sure others are moved so the burden of the heat is distributed…”

She can tell he sounds worried, his love not just for omnics, but for the humans as well. His normal language in rallies and on the tele is diminished now to simply practicality--spirituality becoming nothing more than what it takes to care for his people--the ones closest to him. 

* * *

Days pass. Emily skips her meals to make sure the elderly and children eat. She’s grateful more than ever for the omnics uncanny sense of time, to know they’ve only been there for 3 days. Without Mondatta she’s sure the hostages would have rioted by now, killed each other from the heat and so few resources. 

She asks an omnic to her right, a young man who has no idea where his partner is--what time it is. 

“Early morning,” he answers. “If there’s a King’s Row left...they should be waking up about now.”

Emily rests her head to the wall and closes her eyes.

“...I’m worried he’ll sacrifice himself for us.”

“...Me too.”

So far there had been no demands  _ they _ had heard. Some external ones, perhaps. There was a reason Mondatta was still alive. But with the humans fading fast from lack of food and the burning heat...and the omnics weakening from the horrible radiation of the plant…

It’s only a matter of time.

And Emily still has so many questions about the Iris. 

* * *

The explosions are common, but it doesn’t make close ones any less  _ terrifying. _

There’s a loud one, maybe an hour later--that rocks the power plant so hard that pieces of the aging ceiling fall down and coat the hostages in a thin dust. 

And then another. And another.

Everyone falls dead silent.

Gunfire. Loud and droning, the sound of the bastion units and the OR-15s that have, until now, been dormant in the door just outside.

Emily clings to the omnic man beside her. He does the same. 

No one moves.

The gunfire slows--then stops. Emily can hear human voices outside and feels her heart surge.

Rescue. They’re being  _ rescued. _

Light floods in, silhouetting a huge man. She recognizes his shield from history books detailing the first Omnic Crisis. Crusaders…

She starts to cry, tears streaming down her cheeks when someone shouts  _ “Clear! Only hostages!” _ and a woman glides in borne aloft in the Valkyrie suit. That must be...Mercy. A hero. 

She can hear them saying something about a perimeter, another man--far smaller--stepping out to maintain a turret. And then--

“Help me Triage, Cadet.”

“Aye Aye, Doctor Ziegler!”

Emily stands up immediately, walking over to the woman she’s only seen pictures off, tall and stately with her beautiful wings, her staff, and brilliant white blond hair.

“Those closest to the door are the highest medical emergencies,” she says, as though reporting to the doctor on duty at the clinic. “And so on and so forth down to where it gets hotter. The omnics are arranged similarly further down.”

“And Mondatta?”

“Alive, just a few scrapes.”

On a whim, Emily turns to look at the cadet--

\--and her heart stops.

_ Lena. _

She looks far older now, a little scraped up from a fight, but she’s no longer sickly and thin and  _ weak. _ Just a young soldier. Strapped around her chest is some sort of glowing device, something Emily can only guess has stopped her phasing through walls, stopped her from showing up at her flat in the dead of night. 

Mercy hands the cadet a few med kits and points her down towards the less injured humans.

But the cadet doesn’t move.

She’s only looking at Emily.

“....Lena,” Emily whispers softly, when Mercy flies back to stabilise the more critical patients. “...Do you remember?”

That face melts into a big smile and big tears, spilling down from behind the visor and collecting around the seal.

“...Emily!”

* * *

It’s hours before they have the chance to speak again. Or at least--alone. She had helped them stabilize patients until she was on the verge of collapse, watching Mercy fly, watching Lena--no,  _ Tracer-- _ blink back and forth with new supplies and gear, covering dozens of meters in  _ seconds. _

They evacuate the humans and omnics, getting them to a safehouse further north of London. Nearly a third of the hostages have to be hospitalized. The rest are banged up but good enough to stay in the shelter without medical care. 

Emily one of them.

Mild heat exhaustion for her as well as dehydration and severe hunger. But she’d be alright as long as she took it easy.

She wanted to look for Lena again, somewhat frantic she would leave again, that she wouldn’t see those eyes, that face, again--

There’s a tap on her door frame. And then a smiling face peeking in past the curtain.

“Hiya, luv.”

Tears flood Emily’s eyes and she sits up on her bed, sniffling and holding her arms out.

“Ohhhhhh, what’s all this…” Lena says, her arms closing around Emily. 

“I thought you were dead. You...you were gone and I--”

“Not dead, love. Right here…”

Emily shyly pulls back to the thing pushing into her chest--the chassis surrounding the blue glow.

Lena bites her lip.

“My Chronal Accelerator. Best friend Winston made it for me...keeps me anchored in time. But it also helps me move through time at will!”

“That’s amazing…”

“Yeah…”

Emily pats the bed beside her and Lena sinks into the spot. Emily feels her heart thrill a little. Up close she can see the familiar little spattering of freckles on those cheeks. Today her face is covered in little nicks and bruises, a couple more serious and covered up with some gauze expertly folded and taped.

“You….do you remember me at all?” Emily finally ventures to ask, nervous about the answer. She bites her lip when Lena looks away.

“Not everything. But your face is familiar. It’s kinda weird, the more I’m around you, the more I remember. Like the texture of your couch...the granola bars…”

Lena blushes and turns away a bit.

“N’ your hugs made me feel...safe.”

Emily scoots over to wrap her arms around Lena a second time.

The cadet giggles nervously, happily wrapping her arms back around Emily but talking nonstop.

“W-well I don’t feel so unsafe now. I mean, you were the one taken hostage--at this point I  _ should _ be hugging  _ you--” _

“So why don’t you?”

_ That _ shuts her up. And Emily feels that body relax and wrap around her tightly.

Her hands explore Lena’s back, feeling the muscles. 

She pulls back, looking into those amber eyes. Both hands lift to cup Lena’s face. Her eyes drop to those lips.

They part. And Lena leans in.

“Take me on a date,” she whispers against those lips. Lena nods firmly beneath her hands.

“Gladly.”

She presses in for another kiss, moaning distantly against how  _ right _ it feels.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Don’t care.”

_ Anywhere with you. _


End file.
